Page 67 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
When Dominic returns, he's fully armored in professionalism, spreading contracts and market projections on the table between us like a physical barrier. We spend the next hour discussing production capacity, distribution territories, and exclusivity terms.
His answers are thoughtful and thorough, but lack the passionate engagement I've come to expect from him. It's as if he's retreated behind a glass wall—visible but untouchable.
"I've prepared some marketing concepts," I pull out my tablet. "Based on what I've seen of Silverleaf and your approach."
He reviews my ideas with clinical detachment, nodding occasionally. "These are well thought out."
"But?" I prompt, sensing his reservation.
"But they position Silverleaf as more commercial than I'm comfortable with."
"That's the point of marketing. To sell wine."
"To sell an image," he corrects. "And this isn't the image I've been building."
Frustration bubbles up within me. "The image you've been building is invisible to most of the market. What's the point of creating exceptional wine if no one knows about it?"
"The right people know."
"The right people could be so many more." I try to modulate my tone and stay professional despite the intimacy we've shared. "Your experimental varietals, your high-altitude techniques—these are innovations worth sharing beyond a handful of industry insiders."
He leans back, studying me with that assessing gaze that made me uncomfortable when we first met. "And turning them into marketing bullet points will somehow preserve their integrity?"
"That's not fair," I counter, stung by the implied criticism. "I'm not suggesting wetrivialize your work. Just the opposite—I want to honor it by making sure it reaches the audience it deserves."
Before he can respond, a stack of mail on the counter catches my eye, the top envelope bearing an ornate logo I immediately recognize—the Denver Wine Festival, one of the most prestigious events in the western wine circuit.
"You've been invited to the Denver Wine Festival?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.
"It's nothing." Dominic follows my gaze, expression darkening.
"Nothing? That's one of the most important industry events in the region. The exposure alone?—"
"I said it's nothing." His tone hardens. "They send an invitation every year. I decline every year."
"Why?" I stare at him, unable to comprehend turning down such an opportunity.
"Because I'm not interested in pairing board meetings with cheese plates while self-important critics who couldn't tell Cabernet from Merlot in a blind tasting pass judgment on my life's work." The vehemence in his voice startles me.
"That's not fair. Many of those critics have dedicated their lives to understanding wine, just as you have."
"Understanding it technically, perhaps. Dissecting it until there's nothing left but component parts and scores out of a hundred." His frustration mirrors my own. "You of all people should understand why that approach misses the point."
"Me, of all people?" I repeat, heat rising to my cheeks. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He gestures toward the contracts between us. "Your entire approach is about commodifying what can't be commodified. Breaking wine down into marketable segments and distribution channels, as if it's just another product to be sold."
"That's completely unfair." Anger burns through me, hot and clarifying. "I respect wine far too much to treat it as 'justanother product.' But I also respect winemakers enough to want them fairly compensated for their art, to want their work recognized and appreciated beyond a select few who happen to stumble upon it."
"There's a difference between fair compensation and chasing the spotlight."
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Chasing the spotlight?"
His hesitation is answer enough.
"Wow." I stand, needing physical distance. "So last night was what? A pleasant distraction with someone you fundamentally don't respect?"
"That's not what I said." He rises too, frustration evident in every line of his body. "I respect your knowledge and your palate. But we have different visions for what success looks like."
